


Stretch and Glide

by jcrowquill



Series: Spare the Angels [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Castiel, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcrowquill/pseuds/jcrowquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel use a road trip without Sam to their best advantage.  Pretty much just smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretch and Glide

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of a series of drabbles that will go between [The Opposite of Fall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1087117) and the next long fic. This one references some of the plot points and minor character changes resulting from the Opposite of Fall, but you don't actually need to read it to get this one. It's pretty much just sex. :D
> 
> The other ones will be more plot/character development, but eeeehhhh... someone requested Destiel sex that wasn't so emotional, so here it is. Enjoy!

They haven't really talked about what happened, beyond generalities.  Castiel's slow recovery from his five minutes of fame gives Dean the chance to compose himself and come to grips with the most recent round of near-death experiences.  If the archangel had been awake the first night after closing Hell, things might have been different; Dean might have reaffirmed what he said before, rather than just pressing on as if nothing had happened.

Castiel isn't offended; he knows the hunter on a molecular level.  He knows his soul, he knows his insecurities.  He knows that he'll probably never kiss him in front of Sam, or even openly admit that they share anything more than a "profound bond."

And it's fine.

He is lying on his stomach in the hotel bed, his dark wings stretched and draped comfortably over most of the sparse furniture in the room.  His eyes are closed as he listens to the hum of the universe and feels the movement of distant stars.  He's much more sensitive now than he had been as an lower angel and the changes still fill him with a deep, appreciative wonder.

He listens as Dean coughs and spits in the shower, knowing that he'll never admit that he inhaled enough smoke on that hunt to make himself sick.  He can picture what his hunter looks like with the water running down his body, rinsing away the soot and blood from the day.  He can picture the tracks the first droplets made as they rolled down his dirty body, he can almost see the color of the almost opaque gray-cranberry colored water as it vanishes down the slow hotel drain.  He knows that by the time Dean joins him in the hotel room, he will have scrubbed off the dirt (and probably a layer of skin) and meticulously cleaned under his nails.

Outside the winter rain is coating the parking lot in ice.  He reflects that it's been a few days since the last minor earthquake rattled through the Midwest; the imbalance had shifted slightly, which made him wonder what had changed.  He never trusts change anymore, particularly where it involves angels and hell.

He focuses instead on the angels in heaven, and how much more harmonious things had been upstairs since the gates had been reopened.  There were still rebellious angels on earth, but he felt as though the seraphic family feud was becoming more manageable.  It is owed in part to having only three clearly defined angelic factions (including one very large one that just wants everyone to cool it and be nice), but Castiel had to admit that the drop in population had also cleared up some of the problems.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he doesn't hear the water shut off.  He glances over, surprised, when he sees Dean standing in the open bathroom doorway.  The hunter’s eyebrows are raised almost to his hairline and his mouth is turned upward in a boyish smile.

"Where's a guy supposed to walk?"

"Sorry," Cas comments, though he isn't.  He folds his wings back neatly so that he still takes up most of the bed, just not the entire breadth of room.

The hunter is holding up the towel that he has loosely wrapped around his waist and looking over his personal angel with clear intent in his green eyes.

He moves to sit at the edge on the edge of the bed, then reaches over to catch on to one of Castiel's wings.  Part of him is always aware that the beloved creature is granting him unheard of liberties by letting him casually touch him this way, but he never treats it like the privilege it is.  He stretches out the wing, flexing it carefully so that the feathers fan out majestically.  Castiel is relaxed, almost pretending to ignore him, as he buries his fingertips in the short, soft down near the joint, then begins gently stroking the longer feathers from base to tip.  His feathers aren't mussed, but they're still improved by the light preening as Dean carefully sleeks them all into the correct direction, smoothing the surface.

He tucks that wing back up against the angel's side, then moves to the opposite side of the bed to take on the other. The gentle handle mellows the angel even further, leaving him pliable and satisfied; Dean laughs when he bumps his wing up under his hand to invite him to continue.

"Subtle, Cas."

"Why should I be subtle when I like something and want you to continue?" he asks, turning his head so that he can look at his lover, "You aren't."

Dean reddens, his thoughts straying to any of the dozens of things to which Cas could be referring.  He laughs it off, though, continuing to stroke and groom the angel's wing.

This is something that he enjoys doing.  The feathers are soft and warm under his fingers and more, Cas obviously likes it.  Finding physical sensations that register with the angel's celestial form is a challenge; sure, Cas likes sex, but Dean knows that touching his body isn’t the same as touching _him_.

He leans forward and kisses the notches of his vertebrae between his shoulderblades, then buries his face in the thick, dark feathers and inhales deeply.  Cas draws a sharp breath, then exhales slowly in obvious pleasure.  He rolls his shoulders, then actually moans as Dean presses warm, light kisses to where the wings join his smooth, fair skin.

“Ah,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against his forearms.

“Like that?” Dean asks smugly, kissing again as he strokes his fingers lightly over the arch of one wing.

“Mm-hm.”

The hunter laughs softly, then leans across his back so that he can reach both wings at once.  He settles his weight and digs his hands into the thick, short feathers at the base of his wings and strokes downward in unison. Cas sighs deeply, comfortably.  Dean smirks, then slides his fingers back against the grain, ruffling the feathers and drawing another quiet moan from the angel on the bed.

Dean has the urge to talk dirty to him, like _really_ obscene, but Cas never gets it and it just turns awkward.  Even so, feeling his companion's back arch against him makes him want to tell him how he looks and exactly what it makes him want to do to him. 

He tightens his fingers, tugging at the feathers just shy of hard enough to pull any out.  Castiel moans again, then exhales shakily as Dean smooths them back to rights. He sees the shift of his hips beneath the blankets and realizes that the angel is grinding against the mattress.

"What do you want, Cas?" Dean asks lowly, his voice husky.

Dean is surprised to suddenly find himself on his back with his lover pinning him down with his slim body.  His wings are half-flexed behind him and he is _smiling_ as he leans in to kiss him.

In bed, Castiel usually lets Dean play at having control; they both know and ignore that the angel could kill him with a thought.  It works out better this way, generally, for two simple reasons; first, Dean's sexual identity is fragile enough that he still has considerable hang-ups about being on the receiving end, and second, purely logistically, Castiel is strong enough to hurt him without meaning to.  Even when Cas does take the hunter, he normally relies on Dean to determine the pace and strength.

Probably because it happens so rarely, Dean finds himself _deeply affected_ by shows of dominance.  It's one thing knowing your lover can throw a car one-handed, another thing entirely to suddenly have those hands effortlessly holding you against the rough hotel sheets.

Dean kisses him back hungrily, aroused by his own lack of control as Castiel's hands wander over his chest and hips.  He realizes that at some point, he lost the towel and that Cas has been naked the whole time. To his annoyance, Cas's hands are everywhere except where he most wants them; his palms skate over his hips and sides, across the dip below his ribs and caress his chest and arms.  He cants his hips upward impatiently, which only earns him a quiet, self-satisfied chuckle from his lover.

"Fuck you," he breathes self-consciously, though he doesn't hold still either.  Cas is kissing that part of his neck that makes him squirm, the place where it meets the thick muscle of his shoulder.

"Is that what you want?"

Dean knows by his voice that he isn't being literal or obtuse.  It's an offer, almost dirty talk in Cas's language.

He can't just say yes though; he can't _ask_ for it.  It's one thing if it just happens, but he couldn't just _ask_ the angel to freaking bone him.   Instead he just meets the angel's eyes, his eyebrows raised challengingly.  Castiel kisses his mouth, then his jaw, before he shifts his weight to press his prick firmly against his hunter's.  Dean moans, surprised by how hard the angel is, and bucks his hips to grind against him eagerly.

Cas angles his body so that thrusting his hips slides his cock firmly against Dean’s, letting the heads bump against each other.  He ruts slowly and firmly against him, leaning down to kiss him demandingly. He is solid against him despite his slimmer frame; Dean is pleasurably aware that Cas is actually holding him in place, keeping him exactly where he wants him to be.  He moans appreciatively against his mouth, rocking against him to add to the friction.  His own hand slides up Castiel's lower back until he can again grip the shorter feathers at the base of his wing.  The angel moans, breaking away for a moment, before kissing him hard enough to push his head back against the pillow.

Dean gasps greedily for air when Cas lets him up again, then moans unexpectedly loudly when the angel slides down his body, kissing over the curves and angles of his chest and waist.  Without hesitation, he takes his cock into his mouth and presses forward until his nose bumps against his belly.

"Geez, Cas!" Dean breathes, his back arching. 

His hands are immediately on Dean's hips, pressing them down against the mattress and holding him there as he pulls back to relentlessly lave his tongue over the contours of his prick.  He devotes particular attention to prodding the tender points with the tip of his tongue, making Dean squirm. He isn't normally this wanting, and Dean can't help but feel pleased with himself for putting the angel into this mood.  Cas is voracious as he insistently works him over, pulling increasingly desperate sounds from the hunter.

His bright blue eyes flick up to Dean's face.  He smiles darkly before abandoning his wet prick to kiss lower.  Using his grip on Dean's hip, he tips his pelvis upward to expose him completely.

"Oh, no you-" Dean begins, realizing what his lover is up to just a moment before his tongue finds its mark, allowing him to conclude his statement with only a mindless groan.

It’s one of only a handful of sexual acts that can make the hunter feel self-conscious.  He feels himself blushing darkly as his tummy clenches and his muscles tense and quiver from hip to ankle.  Cas is relentless as he holds his thighs apart, following him as he twitches and squirms under his attentions.  His tongue traces and prods, edging in slightly and making Dean cry out hoarsely.

 _Stop moaning like a fucking bitch_ , Dean tells himself in annoyance, closing his mouth on a short shout as his entire body jerks.

The angel, unfazed, presses forward, licking him open before pulling back to slide his index finger smoothly into his slicked body. Dean cries out in surprised pleasure, his back arching attractively, then pushes against his hand greedily.

Pleased, Cas nips the inside of his thigh as he crooks his finger slightly and thrusts slowly.  He presses open-mouthed kisses to top of his leg, then his hip, avoiding his prick again as he gentles in a second finger.  He knows that it all drives Dean crazy, and for some reason he feels as though he _wants_ to drive the hunter crazy.

After about thirty seconds of this teasing, Dean catches on to a handful of Castiel’s short, thick hair and drags him up to his cock again.  Laughing, the angel obliges him by swallowing him down as he thrusts his fingers slowly into him, twisting each time as he draws them back.

“Fuck, Cas…”

Cas wants to tell him to ask, admit that he wants more.  He remembers the first time that he had the hunter, pressed up against his back because Dean couldn’t look at him, couldn’t admit that they were doing what they were doing, that he was _letting_ Cas do what they were doing.  He’d practically held his breath as the angel slowly eased forward, and the sound that Dean had made when they were pressed up flush had him thinking things that were almost blasphemous.  He hadn’t been sure that Dean liked it, but then the hunter had held him so tightly afterwards, kissed him so hard.

He wants that again, that closeness.  It’s been awhile and he wants Dean to give himself over to him again.  He slides up in his arms so that they’re face to face again, then kisses his neck and jaw.  Dean is still pent up, still pushing himself hard onto his fingers.

"More?" Cas asks, sliding his own eager cock in the crease between Dean's hip and thigh.  He can feel Dean's wet prick against his abdomen and tries to guess the answer; there is always the possibility that Dean will be too self-conscious or too macho, but he knows that Dean wants something from him..  

"Yeah, okay," Dean agrees softly, leaning up to kiss him again.  No matter what he's been up to, the angel always tastes like rain water.

Castiel returns the kiss, cupping his hand briefly against his jaw and holding him in place as he kisses him.  After a moment, he pulls away and turns onto his back, carefully maneuvering his wings so as not to catch them awkwardly underneath them.  With his hands on his hips, he pulls Dean up to straddle his waist.

"Uh, no, I'm so not riding you cowgirl."

"I have no idea what that means," the angel informs him as he reaches for his hand.  He presses a kiss to his palm, then sucks lightly on the tip of the hunter's index finger.

"Fuck," Dean breathes in deeply aroused resignation.

He pulls his hand out of Castiel’s hold almost irritably, then leans over to get a bottle off of the nightstand - he'd put it there earlier in hopes of getting laid, though his ambitions had run more toward Cas on his back with his knees hooked over Dean’s shoulders.  Maybe later.  He applies a fair amount to his fingers, wanting to make sure that this was all as slippery as possible, then reaches back to rub the heavy liquid over his angel's eager prick.  He wants him, though it's still hard to admit; Cas's quiet, eager moan and the way he pushes up into his hands makes his entire body tighten pleasurably.

He finally takes a careful hold of the angel's cock and guides the head up against his body.  He can't make eye contact while he does this, so he closes his eyes and just listens as he eases his weight down onto him.  The first moment when Cas slips past the resistance makes him moan loudly and shift uncomfortably.  There was always - always, like he did this that often! - a slight burn at the beginning.

He presses down part way, then pauses to breathe.  He can feel that Cas is struggling to hold still, not wanting to rush him, and it makes him smirk.  He makes it a game, sliding down the slick length of his cock as slowly as he can until his ass is resting against Castiel's hip bones.

He opens his eyes to see Cas watching him; he's self-conscious again and looks away, focusing instead on the relaxed, half-spread wings underneath him.  He moves his hands from Cas's shoulders to the arch of his wings, then leans forward and uses his weight to pin him against the mattress.

It makes him feel more in control to hold the angel there, as though he can't just throw him off.  He licks his lips, then meets his eyes with a smile, for all the world as though he's the one in charge.  He _is_ the one in charge, he decides as he leans down and kisses him hard, pushing his head back against the pillows.  When he tightens his fingers in the feathers, Cas moans against his mouth and bucks his hips upward.

There's power in the movement, and as arousing as it is, Dean understands why Cas put him on top; the archangel is strong and he'd really rather not have to explain broken bones. He breathes against his mouth, "Don't you move."

There's some sort of implied _or else_ , but Dean has no idea what it is.  Instead of trying to figure it out, he grips his wings and pushes forward, rocking his hips upward and then back to take him on a short, deep stroke.  His lover rewards him with a moan, his body taut, and Dean realizes that this is exactly what he wants tonight.  He picks up a slow, steady rhythm, pushing himself up on his knees to move against him.  He's surprised by how smoothly he can do this and he likes how much control he has over how it feels.  He shifts about, moaning quietly as he finds the best angle.

Castiel is making soft, eager sounds and his hands have come up to rest on Dean's narrow hips.  His grip is firm but careful; his fingers dig in just enough to make Dean's breath catch, but not hard enough to bruise.  He leans down to kiss him, moving firmly against him and making sure that each roll of his hips pushes him down at the angle that hits just right.  

He tugs on the short feathers beneath his hands, then rubs downward slightly to make the angel moan and throw his head back.  He kisses his exposed throat, suddenly imagining what it would be like to come across Cas's back and onto his dark wings. For some reason it’s very easy to picture the pearls of come beaded up on the charcoal-black feathers.  He could have the angel on his knees with his face buried in the pillows, he could nail him until they both got off, then pull out just in time to give him a good money shot.  Yeah, that was a good thought, one that magnified the building heat in his belly every time that he took Cas deep.  He liked fucking Cas, liked thinking about fucking Cas.  One of the best things about him in bed was that nothing was too weird and nothing was too rough.

One of the worst things was that the asshole sometimes forgot common courtesy, like how a helping hand would be pretty welcome right now.  Never one to just wait for things to go his way, Dean pulls one of a Cas's hands off of his hip and guides it to his prick.

"Sorry," Cas breathes belatedly, curling his hand about him and stroking him just the way that he knows Dean likes.  It's a smooth upward jerk with a slight roll of his wrist at the head that slides the edge of his thumb over the slit on each pass.

"S'good," Dean affirms, pushing eagerly into his hand, and then back again onto his cock. The mattress shifts with each movement, creaking obscenely, as Dean begins to move with more urgency. 

Castiel moans again, louder, at each long slide into the slick, tight heat of Dean's body.  His hips are quivering at the effort of holding still and not just giving himself over to his vessel's lingering instinct to pump his hips upward until he comes.

"Hold still," Dean warns him lowly, riding him hard and shamelessly using his body to get himself off.  He strokes his fingers upward on his wings, ruffling the dark feathers and making the angel beneath him whine.  He grips hard, using his hold to brace himself as he lifts and presses his body back harder, taking the angel's cock completely on each stroke and grinding down on his prominent hip bones.

"Oh," Cas breathes and, because he knows that Dean likes to hear it, he moans, "Ah, fuck..."

The orgasm had been sneaking up on the hunter, but hearing Cas speak and, fuck, swear pushes him past his threshold.  It's so intense that he can barely breathe, so he scarcely manages a sound as he comes into the angel's hand.  He wants Cas to finish, and he knows that if he gets him off soon enough, that shared whatever it is will feel like getting a second go.  He pushes down hard against him, ordering breathlessly, "Come on, fuck me Cas."

With those words, Cas surges underneath him.  He pushes up against him firmly, his movements smooth as he rolls and bucks his hips.  Dean is oversensitive now, and every thrust drives an audible breath out of him.  He's not rough, and even as he presses fast and hard into him Dean knows that he's being careful.  He moves with him to deepen and smooth out the rhythym.  
When he arches over to kiss him, tightening his fingers hard enough to feel a few feathers come loose, Castiel comes with a short, choked cry.

There's always some transference when the angel comes; Dean imagines that it feels a bit like how being struck by lightening would feel if lightening was a sex thing.  It's all white hot and intense, overwhelming and consuming, then it's over until an aftershock rolls through.  This time, Dean comes again dry.  It leaves them both dazed gasping for air in the sudden silence.

He never realizes how loud they can be until they suddenly aren't.

Finally, Dean lifts his body and slides free of the angel's prick.  Normally he would climb off of him (though normally he wouldn't be the one who was saddlesore) and settle against his side, but this time Cas's wings are still limply spread and taking up most of the freaking bed.  Instead he just settle atop him, feeling the sticky wetness between them and wanting to shower.  Sex with Cas was always such a mess.  And he can feel that there's jizz between his own legs and the sensation is a bit unpleasant. 

Cas rubs his back lightly with strong, knowing fingers.  He's memorized all of Dean's muscles and how to soothe them.  The hunter sighs comfortably, realizing that at some point Cas must have cleared the acrid soot from his lungs.

"You made a mess of my wings," Cas says softly.

 _Not like I'm going to_ , Dean thinks, remembering his earlier fantasy.  He's worn out, but the thought of pulling feathers while doing the angel doggy style still seems really freaking appealing.

"Relax, I'll smooth them out for you," he yawns.

"You'd better," Cas tells him lazily.  He's not tired, but he's satisfied. He also knows the post-coital routine and exactly what Dean expects out of him, which is pretty much relaxation and a lack of awkward discussion.

"I need a shower," Dean says tiredly, though he doesn't move yet, "You do too."

"Mm," Cas agrees.  They both know that Cas could clean them up, but they also know that a shower and lazy make out is part of the routine.  

"Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

For a moment, it seems like he is going to say something important.  There is a pause that's just a moment too long, then he says, "That was good.  I like seeing you like this."

"You do?"

"Yeah.  I mean, not like it's a weird kink or anything.  It's not like I have an angel... thing."

"You also had sex with Anna," Cas points out objectively.

"Cas, man, we don't talk about other people in bed!" Dean groans, sitting up a bit and looking at him with an half-horrified, half-adoring smile.

"Though she wasn't actually an angel when you did it," he continues, unfazed.  A little snootily, he adds, "I'm the only real angel you've slept with."

Dean laughs, catching the strange pride in his voice, "Yeah, Cas, I know.  You're the only one."

"I am," he replies almost smugly.

Dean snorts, then stays close for a moment longer before sitting up carefully and sliding to his feet, "Come on.  Shower, then wings."

"Wings, then shower," Cas argues, "I don't like them messy."

"I don't like _me_ messy."

"I do," Cas says, sitting up an leaning forward to kiss his standing lover's ribs.  There is nothing shy about him as he looks up, his expression making all sorts of promises that send little jolts of electricity zinging through Dean.

"I-okay.  Fine.  Yeah, okay, you know, fine.  Wings first."

The angel smiles triumphantly, lazily stretching his wings in the small room.  He is content right now, looking at his lover.  Dean may never get up the nerve again to say that he loves him, but he knows.  

It's in every look and gesture, the way that Dean's hands and mouth touch him.  He knows that his touch is on Dean's soul the way Dean's smell is on his skin; they're all over each other and will always find their way back.

Dean drags his fingers through Cas's hair and tilt's his head back as he leans down to kiss his soft mouth.

"Man, you are freaking annoying when you get what you want."  



End file.
